GHOST OF YOU | BWS

seven.

Six days. It's been six days since I last talked to Isaac and his gang. I have been waiting for them to 'get in touch', and I'm starting to think they won't, that I was just some kind of joke to them. They haven't been at their usual spot for the last couple of days, which makes me worried I lost the only opportunity I had to get to Reggie.

"So you're in?", James asks, getting me out of my own train of thoughts. I lift my eyes up from my plate to look at him, an eyebrow raised as I have no clue what he's referring to. "You're not listening to me, are you?", he scoffs, and I give him an apologetic smile. Lately, I haven't been able to think about anything else than Reggie, Isaac, and his gang, and I know James has started to notice how I constantly zone out. "The party, tonight. You in?", he asks again with excited eyes. The thought of going to a frat party, crowded with shallow people looking to get fucked in every sense of the word makes me want to poke my eyes out. Even before Charlie died, and I lost all taste for life, I was not a party girl. I've always hated being surrounded by people who need to get hammered to be their true selves. But maybe a party is actually what I need. Maybe a night of non-stop drinking will help me forget about my fucked up life. Make me forget about how lonely I feel without Charlie, about how the hole I feel in my heart seems to grow every minute that passes.

"Sure", I answer, a large smile quickly appearing on James's lips. He gives me the address and tells me to meet him there directly as we live on opposite sides of the city before we finish our lunch and make our way to our next class.

The afternoon goes by as slowly as usual as I listen to my boring professor reading an even more boring Powerpoint presentation. After what feels like a century, my three-hour lecture finally ends and I leave campus in the direction of my apartment. When I reach home, I throw my bag on the floor next to the door like I do every day, and l walk in my bedroom where I let myself fall on the bed. In the past few months, my bed has been my favourite place to be. Whether it's here or back at my parents' place in Southampton, it's the only place I feel somewhat safe. I make the mistake of shutting my eyes for a second, looking to relax for a minute before getting ready for the party, but of course, my brain has other plans and I find myself falling asleep. I wake up over four hours later, and it takes me a second to realize what happened as I start to move my numb limbs. Fuck, the party, I think as I grab my phone to look at the time: 9:23 pm, and a stream of notifications from James. I get up and send him a text to let him know I'm on my way before I quickly undress from my jeans and sweater and jump into a red fitted dress. I put on some Nikes that ruin the look but don't pay attention to it, and grab a jacket before making my way outside, not caring about what my hair looks like. I'm not looking for a hookup, so who cares what I look like? Alcohol surely doesn't.

I arrive at the party an hour later, after getting into the wrong bus and almost turning around to go back to bed. But I took pity on James's desperate calls and here I am, making my way through the crowd as I look for him, my phone on my ear, trying to hear him tell me where he is in this big house. After looking for over fifteen minutes, I finally locate him sitting on the stairs, a red cup in his hands, talking to a couple of guys. As soon as he sees me, his lips curl into a smile and he stands up and walks down the stairs to come and greet me. He gives me a tight hug, and I can immediately tell he's already wasted.

"Bundle of Joy!", he screams over the loud music. "You made it. I was starting to think you ditched me", he adds before grabbing my hand and dragging me back to where he was sitting a couple of seconds ago. He makes me sit next to him and introduces me to his friends who look as drunk as him. They start talking about music, as they all share the same major, and my mind starts to wander as I look at the people around us. Every single person in this house looks either wasted or high. A bunch of dudes are playing pool, kicking everyone around them with their stick, but they don't seem to give a shit about it. Another group sits on the multiple sofas in the living room, laughing loudly and spilling their drinks everywhere. Every inch of space is occupied by sweaty and horny students either drinking, dancing, smoking or making out, and I start to regret coming here tonight. I'm gonna need something strong to last longer than five minutes here. Thankfully James quickly offers to get me a drink, and I don't have to wait long before he comes back with a red cup and a bottle of vodka in his hands. "I didn't know what you liked so I mixed a little bit of everything", he says as he hands me the cup, accidentally pouring half of it on his friend next to me, barely able to hold his balance. I laugh at his drunken state, and bring the glass to my nose, wincing at the smell. I guess that will have to do, I think as I swallow the liquor in one big gulp. The liquid burns my throat, making me squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head out of reflex, and gag at the awful taste. James can cross bartender off the list of backups if his music career fails. The gross taste in my mouth encourages me to grab the bottle of vodka from James's hands; anything to get rid of that god awful taste. He doesn't even seem to notice he's not holding the bottle anymore, too busy talking about whatever it is that they're talking about. I uncap the bottle and bring it to my mouth, before drinking a good quarter of it. Again, the bitter liquid burns my throat, but I don't wince this time. This tastes like heaven after James's little satanic creation. I continue to drink the bottle by myself, while I pretend like I'm interested in what the guy in front of me is telling me when I couldn't give less shit. Everything seems so boring and empty of meaning since Charlie died. How am I supposed to have a normal conversation about stuff that I stopped caring about the day I learned about his death?